


dry eyes

by thefablediary



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, also i definitely hc that magnus has a hand carved record player sorry i don't make the rules, let him rest, poor taako is so exhausted, sleepy boy, the 'elves don't sleep' trope, the products of my own insomnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefablediary/pseuds/thefablediary
Summary: taako is exhausted, and elves don't sleep.





	dry eyes

**Author's Note:**

> it's almost 2am and my insomniac ass won't let me rest, so here's a little drabble thing i just wrote about poor sleepy taaks in my same position. i based this off of the little elvish detail that i think a lot of DMs use in which elves just? don't sleep?? like they meditate instead?? i dunno but either way, let taako sleep 2kforever thanks

Taako is tired. 

He doesn’t feel it all too much all too often, but after hard hitting training sessions or particularly tolling adventures, the exhaustion he carries with him seems to be magnified. He feels the dryness in his eyes and the ache in his muscles flashing at him from all directions, and at certain points it gets so strong that all he can do is lie back on the couch and gaze out the window, glazed-over eyes reflecting the stars. 

Elves don’t sleep. 

There’s never been much for Taako by way of meditating, that much is evident. He’s always been too scatterbrained, too anxious, too distraction-prone to get anywhere fast. He remembers that it used to drive him crazy, but he’s grown used to it now. Having found ways to distract himself while everyone around him sleeps, Taako finds getting through the nights easier than it used to be.

Still, sometimes he runs out of distractions.

On these nights, Taako just needs to sit; he curls himself up on the couch, knees pulled close to his chest, and waits, listening to the sounds of the walls and rooms around him. If he listens closely, he can hear Merle snoring down the hall. Magnus’ bedsprings creak every time he rolls over in his sleep. The clock on the wall ticks on valiantly, never missing a second, and Taako resists the urge to take out the batteries. 

The room settles around him. He waits.

After what feels like a decade, Taako gets up again, padding into the kitchen to make tea. He rummages through the cabinets, seeing the world with half-lidded eyes, and leans against the counter while he’s waiting for the water to boil. Occasionally, he reaches a hand up and rakes his fingers through his hair, pulling his hand down the back of his neck and then back up again, aching for some sort of sensation that isn’t numbness.

He jumps when the kettle starts to whistle.

Taako drinks his tea slowly, lifting it and setting it down again with the delicacy of someone attempting not to wake a sleeping baby. From time to time he feels the urge to wake up Magnus or even Merle but suppresses it, knowing better than to interrupt their sleep only to ease his lack thereof. He sinks into the couch willingly and lets his bones settle there, intending to remain motionless but knowing that his fidgety nature will get the better of him eventually. His eyes fall closed and he doesn’t try to reopen them.

Half an hour passes.

Taako listens to music. He lays in the middle of the living room floor and plays Johann’s music box six times over, tugs Magnus’ old record player out from beneath the end table and places a record he’s never heard before under the needle. It sounds like dust and sunlight through windows and the color green, and he plays it one and a half times before putting it away. He taps an abstract beat out on the floor for a while and then, eventually, lies in the silence, as he was inevitably going to end up doing. Taako stares up at the ceiling and realizes that, for a time, he’d forgotten he was so exhausted.

He reaches a hand up to his face and rubs his eyes.

The house is quiet. Taako leans up against the armrest of the sofa, staring out of the orb-shaped window that looks down upon the world below. Whatever continent they’re hanging up above is primarily dark, sporadically illuminated with nightlife, but over the horizon Taako can see the faintest sliver of light, the incipience of morning. He folds his arms over his chest and sits, contentedly, in the glow of it. 

Time passes so, so slowly.

He knows that tomorrow will be a new day and this weariness will subside, making room for jokes and spells and life, and he’ll forget about the aching in his joints for a while. Until then, though, Taako rests his chin in his hand and watches the sky, absentmindedly tracing his fingers up and down his leg and craving any possible form of sleep.


End file.
